


i slither here from eden.

by zolotolev



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom - Susan Kay
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 12:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9819845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zolotolev/pseuds/zolotolev
Summary: Erik watched all of this coldly and blankly, curled into himself like the crotchety old man that he was.“I wish you’d get out of my house,” were his biting words.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Notes from my modern phantom au., in which the Persian is named Mohsen Kassem and his relationship with Erik is just about as healthy as Leroux/Kay imagined.  
> Meanwhile, Christine slumbers unawares.

Mohsen Kassem could choke, as far as Erik was concerned. He sat in a quaint pleasant manner, holding the saucer of tea in one hand and a graceful finger hooked around the mug handle. His beard was speckled with gray but had not one hair out of place. Mohsen’s dark sparkling eyes, which held so much kindness and patience for others, were trained on him with reserved wariness. He brought the cup to his lips and sipped before bending over to place both objects on the coffee table. Erik watched all of this coldly and blankly, curled into himself like the crotchety old man that he was. 

“I wish you’d get out of my house,” were his biting words. 

The man’s fingers pinched the bridge of his nose with obvious agitation. “This is serious, Erik.” Erik only brought his head back against the back of the armchair to glare at the intruder through heavy lids behind the mask. “She’s been here for two days. She hasn’t been home. What the hell are you doing?” 

A dangerous wisp of anger was beginning to flare in his chest. His arms unfolded and both gloved hands clenched at the arms of the seat. His voice was forcibly steady as he replied, “Am I under arrest for having a woman in my home,  _ asfar _ ?” 

“You’ll be under arrest for  _ kidnapping _ ,” Mohsen snapped. Some of his elegance faded as he scowled at the masked man sitting across from him. He glanced over his shoulder towards the little hallway and then demanded, “Is she here now?”

“She’s asleep,” Erik responded lowly. The warning tone was enough to send a ripple of discomfort tearing through Mohsen’s spine. He turned back around in his seat with an expression of resignation. Erik turned away. 

“What are you doing?” Mohsen asked again, but his voice was entirely different. It was sad. “Despite everything, you’ve always been a gentleman, Erik. And this - you have to know this just isn’t done.” 

The two golden orbs snapped back to his instantaneously. Erik leaned forward. “And why not?” He nearly growled. One hand tore away from the armrest to gesture behind the intruder. “She’s here because she wants to be, you daft meddling _ fils de pute _ . Wake her up and ask her yourself if my testament means nothing.” 

“That wouldn’t make me feel any better,” Mohsen conceded with a raise of his eyebrows. “I’ve been witness to people compelled to do stranger things due to your voice.” 

“I tell you - “ The suddenness and agility with which he flung himself out of the chair caused Mohsen to visibly flinch backwards. “I tell you, you are beginning to be a great pest,  _ asfar. Tu m'emmerdes. _ ”

“You know I don’t speak French,” the police chief responded blandly. 

Towering over the man, Erik attempted to gain control of himself. Only his old supervisor and warden could stir such a violent reaction from him so quickly. “Then I’ll say it plainly,” Erik hissed. “Get out of my home, Mohsen, before I do something I’ll regret.” 

Mohsen merely looked up at his old acquaintance for several moments, quiet and contemplative, before sighing. With aching limbs and a heavy spirit, he lifted himself from the seat and removed his warm karakul winter hat. “Thank you very much for the tea, my friend,” he nodded. He donned the hat once more and shrugged his winter coat on before ambling out the front door without another word. 

Erik dropped back into his own seat and passed a shaking hand over his closed eyes. “ _ Ordure _ .”

* * *

 

There could never be enough space between them. Even from across the room, he felt as though he were contaminating her. He had hurt her, and of course he had. The evidence was glaring. Her red wrist and her usually dancing bright eyes dulled with reproach. Even deep in the trenches of overwhelming guilt and shame, he couldn’t help but be in awe of her beauty. The dark tendrils of hair that cascaded around her pale face, so delicate in its features and so expressive. Her high cheekbones, her tall neck, her long eyelashes, all coming together with graceful symmetry. If there was a God, He was mocking him with her beauty - placing it so near to his grotesque meager existence. But she was there and the words flowing from her sweet lips were calming, soothing, for his sake. She was apologizing.  _ She was apologizing _ . His vision tunneled alarmingly. He couldn’t look at her. Her voice was drenched with sincerity. 

Sincerity for a monster. Was there a time when only her voice held any interest for him? For weeks, he had hunted her like prey. Without compassion or regret, he took note of her workplace, her classes, where she lived, where she ate, where she performed. The cool calculated nature of his stalking was not unlike how he had tracked down his assignments. The city was pristine and new. Much of America appeared that way to him, in contrast with Europe's very old and very worn soul. But Seattle was perhaps the freshest face he had encountered, filled with new architecture, booming businesses, ripe young adults flocking from all over the country to embrace a greener fresher way of life. It didn’t suit him. And it didn’t fool him. The underbelly of humanity was the same regardless of location, and it was the underbelly that controlled the rest, pulled the strings from the shadows. It was a feeble thin line that detained the world's leaders from exposing their secret sick twisted nature. That line was where Erik worked. 

His actions had been careful and measured until they weren’t. He had watched her leave the music building with a distinct and foreign feeling of alarm. She knew. She had spoken to someone, a conversation had taken place, something had happened, and it was slowly unraveling all of their excruciating effort. Panic was a disgusting emotional response that he had learned to beat into submission. Nothing but steady and articulate planning deserved a place in his life. Sentiment had left him bloodied and bruised in another life. He had thought that he was the master of his mind and soul. But the steady ringing in his ears would not cease and his insides would not unclench. He had taken her. The apartment locks had been alarmingly simple to bypass. It had all been done quickly and efficiently - but he had been deeply affected by her quiet slumber, her eyelashes against her lightly freckled white cheeks. She had been so light in his arms. 

And then she had been so frightened. Any other reaction would have been laughable. He thought that he had prepared for the tears. He had answered her questions to the best of his abilities. Then he had fled. In the privacy of the organ room, he had been torn apart at the seams. The cathedral-like rafters and organ pipes had watched his mask fly across the room joined by a cry of outrage. They were, alone, present for his tears. His carefully crafted exterior had crumbled at the sight of her distress. He would never be the one to sooth her. But he would be the one to bring her glory. Glory, glory, glory - amen. 

Every passing second with her was a gift. She was burning light, open, bright, and miraculous. Her beams of light unwound and pierced him in the darkest places, repeatedly. It was loud and painful. Every smile and glance in his direction was akin to a fierce dagger. He was becoming someone he didn’t recognize, a pining affected fool. If she had suggested he impale himself on a pike, he would have nodded and naturally acquiesced. It was no good. Her fleeting touches and soft words were no good. Though a woman, she was as naive and trusting as a child. He would break her in his turbulenc. He would bring her fame and recognition, and then, like a demon, slither away to the lake of fire to burn in secret. 

It was all he deserved.


End file.
